And by the open window of the room beyond, Valérie knelt down, and he knelt down beside her.
It was quiet without—and there was no sound, save now the murmur of the Bishop's voice from the inner room. He was to live—and not to die. To go free! To give himself up—but to be set free—and there were to be the years with Valérie. He could not understand it yet in all its fulness.
Valérie was crying softly. With a great tenderness he put his arm about her.
“It was the Benedictus—'into the way of peace'—that you said for her that night,” she whispered. “Say it now again, my lover—for her—and for us.”
He drew her closer to him, and, with her wet cheek against his own, they repeated the words together.
And after a little time she raised her hands, and held his face between them, and looked into his face for a long while, and there was a great gladness, and a great love, and a great trust in the tear-wet eyes.
“I do not know your name,” she said.
“It is Raymond,” he answered.